Legion

by Robert Swartwood

  Eli seemed to think this over for a moment. He said, “Fine, I will,” and raised his gun at David’s face.

  John was moving before Ashley even realized it. He pushed Eli away just as Eli pulled the trigger. The shot went wide.

  “What the fuck?” Eli shouted at John. “He killed Marta!”

  “We’re not killers.”

  “He deserves to die.”

  “He’s your son.”

  “No,” Eli said, aiming his gun again at David Smith, “he’s not.”

  And before John could intervene again, Eli pulled the trigger.

  forty-seven

  The waiting area is deserted. The flat screen TV still plays that medical infomercial but nobody is watching it. Every chair is empty. A magazine lies on the carpet by the door leading into the hallway, no doubt dropped in haste.

  Eli leads the way. He goes to the door, opens it a half inch, peeks through the crack, then lets it shut quietly.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “There are people out there. Patients.”

  “How many?”

  “A dozen or more. They’re still filing into the stairwell.”

  “What should we do?”

  “We can’t wait here. We’ll have to try for the other stairwell.”

  Each of us has a gun in our hands. Without a word, we slip the guns into our jacket pockets. We don’t let go of the guns, though, and keep our hands in our pockets as we step out into the hallway. With the constant blaring and flashing strobes and almost everyone’s back to us, there’s a chance we won’t be noticed.

  Our luck this time doesn’t hold out.

  “Where are you going?”

  It’s Janice, the nurse who only minutes ago knocked on David’s office door. She appears to be overseeing the evacuation process.

  “We’re headed that way,” Eli says, and points like it’s no big thing.

  She gives her head a matter-of-fact shake. “This section of the floor needs to use this stairwell.” Her brow creases. “Where is Dr. Smith?”

  “He’s coming. He told us to use the other stairwell.”

  She doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes narrow. At first I think it’s with suspicion, and then I realize she’s staring at Ashley.

  “Is that ... blood?”

  Shit.

  Eli says, “Let’s go,” and we continue down the hallway. It’s a long hallway. At the end we see a few other people shuffling into a stairwell.

  Behind us, Janice yells at us to stop.

  We start running. Which probably isn’t the wisest thing to do when fleeing a murder scene, but right now we don’t have much choice.

  The crowd of people shuffling into the service stairwell has thinned by the time we reach the door. We still have our hands in our pockets, gripping our guns. Eli slips his out when he reaches the door. He peeks in, then glances back at us and nods.

  Here the stairs are narrow, the walls cinderblock. A long steady line of people shuffles down the steps. Not just from this floor, but the upper floors, too.

  A few of the employees notice us but don’t give us much thought. Eli takes the lead again and starts to get in line but stops.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “They’ll be expecting us to come down.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “We head up instead.”

  forty-eight

  With the stairwells packed, they had no choice but to take the elevators. Zach had Tyson override the emergency controls so one of the elevators would work, and they rode it to the third floor where there were only a few stragglers left.

  One of them, a meaty woman dressed in a colorful nurse’s outfit, said, “Excuse me, you’re not supposed to be using the elevators during a fire.”

  Zach and Hogan stepped past her, heading for the door leading into Neurology.

  “Excuse me,” the woman said again.

  Both men stopped. They turned back around. The hallway was empty now besides them and the woman.

  Hogan asked, “Are you going to be a problem?”

  The woman placed a hand on her hip, her eyebrow rising. She looked like she was going to say something, but before she could, Hogan said, “Yeah, you’re going to be a problem,” and placed a bullet right between her eyes.

  “Christ,” Zach said. “We’re trying to keep the civilian fatality rate as low as possible.”

  “What else would you have had me do?”

  They headed into Neurology, through the empty waiting area, through the door leading back to the corridor and waiting rooms. They knew which office was David Smith’s. That was where David was supposed to keep Eli and the others until they got there. It was a simple task, but as they neared, something hollow filled Zach’s stomach. Even before they reached the office and opened the door, he knew something was wrong.

  “Help!”

  David Smith was on the floor just inside the door. Judging by the trail of blood it looked like he had crawled across the carpet. He was reaching up, either for the handle or for them, it wasn’t quite clear, but what was clear was he had been shot in each leg.

  “Please,” David Smith groaned, his voice barely a whisper, “please help.”

  They stepped over him and entered the office. Marta lay dead on the floor, her blood soaking into the carpet.

  Zach crossed to the window, split the blinds to see the street below. Already crowds were beginning to form as patients and visitors and staff exited the hospital.

  “Hey,” David Smith said. “Why aren’t you helping me?”

  Hogan made a sweep of the room and then crouched down in front of Smith. “How long ago did they leave?”

  “I need ... help. My—my—my legs!”

  Hogan snapped his fingers repeatedly in front of Smith’s face, and when that didn’t seem to do the trick, he slapped him on the cheek.

  Smith groaned again.

  “How long ago did they leave?”

  “I don’t ... I don’t know. They were here and then they left. Please ... I need help.”

  “Who shot you?”

  Smith groaned into the carpet. “My brother ... shot me! And Eli!”

  Zach had to smile at that. He knew Eli could be a coldhearted son of a bitch, but it surprised him to hear John Smith could be, too. Only, the more he thought about it, something didn’t add up.

  “Why?” he asked, turning away from the window.

  “What?” Smith frowned up at him in pain. “What why?”

  “Why did Eli only shoot you in the leg?” Zach crossed the room, crouched down beside Hogan in front of Smith. “Why didn’t he just kill you?”

  Smith blinked up at him. He stared for a moment, then understanding seemed to light up in his eyes.

  “No”—shaking his head in a sort of spasm—“no, please don’t.”

  Hogan took his gun and placed the barrel against David Smith’s temple. “You had one task. One simple, fucking task.”

  “I tried! I did everything I could! But they ... they overpowered me!”

  Hogan shook his head slowly, making a tsking sound. “One simple task.”

  A few moments later, two dead bodies now behind them, they headed back down the corridor for the waiting area. Zach’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

  “Was just about to call you. Eli and his son and the girl slipped us.”

  “I know,” Tyson said. “That’s why I’m calling.”

  “You found them?”

  “Yep.”

  “They reach the lobby yet?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Where?”

  “Fifth floor. For some reason they’re headed up.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. They’re playing right into our hands.”

  They burst through the waiting room door into the hallway deserted only for the woman’s dead body on the carpet.

  Zach said, “We’re headed up now.”

  forty-nine

  Up t
hey went, past the people coming down, the steps almost too narrow for two people to fit through at the same time but somehow they managed to make it work, keeping to the cinderblock walls and the metal railing and pushing onward.

  Ashley didn’t quite understand what Eli was doing, why he was taking them up when they should be headed down, but it was clear he knew more about what was going on than any of them. So far his instincts seemed to be right, even when those instincts had almost gotten them killed. And so they kept going, past the fourth floor, past the fifth floor, until they reached the sixth floor and the continuous line of people almost disappeared completely. They were all behind them now, nothing in front of them, meaning they could keep climbing the stairs without any interruptions.

  But that wasn’t Eli’s plan. He stopped at the sixth floor service door, pulled his gun from his pocket. “This way.”

  Ashley and John withdrew their guns. She didn’t know about John, but she found a strange form of comfort in the rubber grip. Especially after everything she had experienced in the past two days. Especially after what David Smith said.

  The girl, too.

  Those words kept echoing in her head. They just didn’t make sense.

  Eli went first, then John, then Ashley.

  The floor appeared to be empty.

  John asked, “What are we doing?”

  “Waiting.”

  “For what?”

  Eli was looking up and down the corridor. Something caught his eye.

  “Shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Of course.” Eli shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before. Come on, let’s go.”

  They started down the corridor. As they reached the end, Eli took his gun and swatted at the security camera positioned against the wall near the ceiling. He didn’t knock it down, though Ashley didn’t think that had been his intention. What he had done instead was made it so the lens was now focused not down the corridor, but toward the wall.

  John glanced back at the camera. “They know exactly where we are.”

  “Yes.”

  “And they’re probably headed here right now.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t we head down with everyone else?”

  Eli stopped to catch his breath. “They were expecting it. They probably have people down on the first floor waiting for us. We would have been walking straight into their arms.”

  “But so would everyone else. There would have been a ton of witnesses.”

  “You think these people care about witnesses?”

  John said nothing to that. Ashley knew Eli had a point.

  “My plan,” Eli said, “was to wait this out. They can’t keep this emergency going forever. It’s only been, what, five or ten minutes? They have to know there isn’t a fire by now, that there’s no real threat. They’re going to have to start letting people back into the hospital soon.”

  John was nodding. “And when everyone comes back in, we slip out.”

  “That was the original plan.”

  “What’s the plan now?”

  Before Eli could respond, the alarm stopped blaring. There was a sudden deep silence despite the echoing in her head. But the strobes kept flashing, which meant the alarm was still in progress.

  “What does that mean?” John whispered.

  Eli looked up and down the corridor. “I’m not sure.”

  “We can’t wait here. We’re sitting ducks.”

  They started back down the corridor, but slowly, the rubber soles of their shoes making small squeaks on the shiny linoleum. In the silence it was the loudest noise, and every time Ashley’s shoe made a squeak she jumped as if it were a gunshot.

  It was so quiet that, several seconds later, they heard the faint and distant ding of an elevator as its doors slid apart.

  • • •

  A door was open nearby. Eli started toward it. John went to follow but paused, looked at her, and motioned her to go first.

  Ashley gritted her teeth just thinking about how much her shoes would squeak. After they had come so far, it would be just her luck that her squeaking shoes got them killed. She lifted her foot and extended her leg and placed all her weight on the toe. She leaned forward and brought back her other leg and did the same motion of placing her weight on the toe until she had reached the door. She had done it without any noise, thankfully, and now here Eli was with his gun up, motioning John to hurry as well.

  Footsteps sounded out down the corridor.

  John made it through the door without any trouble. Here the floor was still linoleum, not carpet like it had been back down in Neurology.

  John whispered, “Now what?”

  Eli thought about it for a moment. He glanced around the room, which seemed to be a back office with medical equipment. “Stairs.”

  “The ones we just used?”

  Eli nodded.

  John made a face. Clearly he didn’t like it. Ashley didn’t either. She also didn’t think Eli liked it much, but what else was there to do? These men obviously knew they were on this floor. They were already on this floor, for Christ’s sake, coming this direction. Time was running out.

  Eli stepped up close to the door. He peeked around the corner. The footsteps were faint, the men no doubt trying to keep quiet, but still it sounded like they were headed this way.

  Eli held up his hand. He whispered, “On three, you two run. I’ll cover you.”

  John raised his gun in the ready position.

  Ashley did the same.

  Down the corridor, the footsteps grew closer.

  Eli peeked around the corner again. At once his posture changed. He said, “Shit,” and then shouted, “Go!” and raised his gun down the corridor and started shooting.

  • • •

  John went first. He grabbed her hand, his gun in the other hand, and leaned out the door firing down the corridor. Then he was out and he was running and she was running, too, both of them running backward, firing up the corridor at the two men coming their way. The men were returning fire but the fire was sporadic, a few shots here, a few shots there. The wall coughed plaster and Ashley flinched as pieces hit her face. But still she kept shooting until there were no more bullets left. By then they were at the service stairwell door. She opened the door and started to take a step forward but screamed when she saw two more men standing just inside, both with guns. John, directly behind her, spun around. One of the men fired at John. John dove away as the other man grabbed Ashley’s arm and yanked her through the door and the other one kept firing and the sound in the stairwell made it seem like her head was going to split and she was screaming and tried kicking but someone held her legs in place and then something was over her face, something suffocating her, stealing her breath, and everything went dark.

  fifty

  One second she’s there, and the next second she’s gone.

  It happens just like that.

  The gunfire continues down the corridor, Eli shooting at the two men and the two men shooting back at Eli.

  And Ashley is now gone, the door slammed behind her.

  I push open the door and step into the stairwell and almost get shot. Bullets zing and thwack against the wall. Bits of cinderblock explode.

  I duck down, covering my face, and peek over my arm. A man is standing at the top of the stairwell, right where it turns and ascends to the next level. He takes aim and fires again. I dive out of the way, rolling to the wall. I jump back up, my own gun aimed right at where he was standing, and I squeeze off as many rounds as I can before the slide kicks back. I’m no expert, but I know what that means. The gun is empty. Not good.

  But it doesn’t matter anyway. My fire scared the man off. At least, he’s not there anymore. My ears are still ringing and there’s the gunfire back in the corridor, but I can just make out the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

  I start up the steps, leaning toward the middle and looking up. I see them there, two men an
d Ashley. One of the men is the one who was just shooting at me. The other has Ashley draped over his shoulder like a fireman.

  I shout at them to stop, which I realize a second later is stupid, as my gun’s empty and theirs, presumably, are not. This theory is proven correct when the man who was just shooting at me stops, leans over the railing, and shoots at me again.

  Jumping back out of the way, I push myself against the wall, as if pushing hard enough might cause me to become absorbed by the cinderblock.

  In that moment I’m aware of several things. My heart pounding in my chest. The footsteps above me heading up to the next level. The sporadic gunfire back in the corridor.

  I weigh my options, but the truth is I don’t have many. Fact is, I hardly have any. I could try to go after Ashley, sure, but there are two men with guns—trained killers, no doubt—who still have bullets for their guns, while I currently have none. And then there’s the other option, which is diving back toward the gunfight behind me while, again, my gun is empty. Still, Eli has bullets, and if he doesn’t, well, then we’re both dead.

  In the end, my decision is easy.

  Because the man who isn’t carrying Ashley, the one who’s been shooting at me, heads back down the steps. Instead of hearing the two sets of footsteps going higher and higher, one is now going higher while the other is coming down. Right at me.

  I dive back into the corridor.

  • • •

  Eli is coming at me right as I step out of the stairwell. He’s walking backward, shooting down the corridor. He bumps into me and spins around, his gun aimed at my face.

  “Jesus Christ!” I shout, holding up my hands.

  His eyes shift past me at the door. “Where’s Ashley?”

  I shake my head, scanning the corridor. The two men are farther down there, making their advance. Behind me, the shooter is coming fast. Across the corridor is an open doorway.

  “In there!”

  I push Eli toward the doorway. He starts to protest, but that’s when the men farther down the corridor open fire again. Eli returns fire until, quite suddenly, his gun goes silent. By that point we’ve crossed the corridor into the open doorway. I slam the door shut and lock it, as if that’s going to do any good. Maybe provide us an extra second or two, but that’s it.